


Reflections Of Sad Beauty

by Denstort



Category: Muse (Band)
Genre: Gen, Photography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 20:55:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5840683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Denstort/pseuds/Denstort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another short foray into the 'Muted Symphony' world...how did they find out where Aziz had taken Matthew?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflections Of Sad Beauty

I spotted him sitting by the pool as I rode my horse along the trail that wound its way round it. I’d seen him before, briefly, but he wasn’t alone, what looked very much like a bodyguard was standing behind him as he looked out at the pool of water.

I didn’t say hello, obviously he must be someone important or rich, or why else would he have a bodyguard.

But this time he was alone and I gathered the courage to stop and speak to him. He looked up as I reined in my mount and my lord, he was stunning, and the photographer in me wanted to capture that beauty.

“Hi,” I said from my saddle.

Sapphire blue eyes stared at me, then he said, “Hi.”

I dismounted and noticed his horse, which was another beauty, as black as it’s riders hair.

“Beautiful horse, is it yours?”

He nodded.

“Do you mind if I take a photo of him?”

He looked round then said, “Sure.”

He whistled and the horse let out a whinny and walked over, then nuzzled it’s riders hair.

“You must live at the house owned by Aziz Bishara. I’ve seen horses like this when I ride by”

I saw him tense at the question, then he said, “ I’m Aziz’s ward, my parents were good friends of his. He took me in after they died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said as I fiddled with my camera.

“It’s okay.....so you a photographer?”

“Freelance...I shoot nature mostly, the occasional portrait. Will he stand still for long?”

He nodded and stood and whispered something to the horse in what sounded like Arabic.

“I’m Sarah,” I said.

“Matthew,” he replied, but I got the feeling that he felt awkward using that name. He sat down again and started looking out at the pool of water again.

As I focused in on the horse and Matthew, I felt slightly guilty that I hadn’t told him that I really wanted to photograph him, but I got the feeling that he would have refused if I had.

He really was quite striking and I took as many shots as I could, until he moved and looked over his shoulder.

“I think you should go, I shouldn’t be out here on my own. I don’t think my bodyguard will be happy to see me talking with a stranger. I hope the photos turn out okay.”

I thanked him and as I rode out of his sight I heard the sound of a vehicle and muted voices, but eventually I was out of ear-shot.

The photos came out really well and I decided to put them in my next exhibition; Matthew really was beautiful, yet somehow there was a world of sadness behind the small smile, such a contrast to the beauty of the surroundings.

I called the series of photos “Reflections Of Sad Beauty” as I had made sure that every shot had the pool of water in it and several of them had caught Matthew and his horses’ reflection in the pool.

I jumped when someone said as I looked at them.

“Where did you take these, they’re wonderful.”

I turned and saw a dark-haired man, who to me had the look of ex-military.

“Oh, it was in Arizona, I don’t know the name of the place. It was just outside some privately owned land.”

“Does the model have a name?”

“ Matthew ,but he wasn’t a model. I came across him by chance, he’s quite eye-catching, isn’t he. Well they both are.”

“Yes...are they for sale?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like to buy them, all of them.”

“Okay, let’s go and see my agent. Are you buying them for yourself?”

“No, for the company I work for. They would really appreciate these.”

“Are they buyers that I would know?”

“You might....the Wolstenholme’s.”

I thought for a second, “Oh yes, they’re going to good owners then.”

“Absolutely...so, this privately owned land, does it have a name?”

I thought for a second, “Yes, I believe it is called,” and I tell him the name.

“Thank you,” he said and as I walked away, wondering if I would get the chance to meet Matthew again and this time ask him if I could photograph him, I heard him give his name to my agent.

“Yes, it’s Thomas...Thomas Kirk.”


End file.
